


Into The Groove

by eternityforflesh



Series: Dancing in the Dark [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dirty Dancing, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, M/M, Megatron Origin AU, Slash, Smut, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 09:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2424149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternityforflesh/pseuds/eternityforflesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That fateful week in Kaon from Starscream's perspective. Dancing, drama, and heartbreak collide when the Crown Prince of Vos decides he needs a break from of all the pomp and circumstance of formal balls held in his honor and a miner on holiday spots him on the dancefloor.</p><p>ETA: Updated to set up some events for part four. Yay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into The Groove

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Madonna's song "Into The Groove."  
> For your reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52iW3lcpK5M  
> And, yeah, I totally see Screamer dancing like Madonna. He's a diva like that.
> 
> Warnings: explicit sticky, drunk mechs, dirty dancing.

      A ping signaled the arrival of a new message into his inbox and Starscream cycled his optics in irritation. He had five messages waiting in his queue, several of them already days old. And if he had his way – and why shouldn't he? – they'd automatically dump out of his queue never to be read after a week.

     Reclining on a couch in his chamber, he groaned, a hand rubbing at his face. He'd give them all a cursory read and ping back his refusals.

     They were all invitations to balls held in his honor. More wealthy Vosian families looking to have their scions bond into the royal dynasty, of which Starscream was the Crown Prince. When his creators first approached him about finding a consort, the jet had to admit to himself that he was excited by the prospect of dozens of beautiful young fliers courting him and sending him expensive gifts and throwing lavish parties for him.

     But he didn't expect the boorish mechs – and some of them had horrible color schemes! – constantly haranguing him wherever he went, pestering his trine-mates, inviting him to stiffly formal events where none of them could properly dance.

     It was all counted steps and controlled spins and insincere bows set to dainty music on traditional Vosian instruments. Oh, it was all so stuffy and boring. How Starscream wanted to dance to pounding bass and let his frame move to the beat!

     He sent back curt declinations to each sender, not bothering with flattering glyphs or insincere excuses. The ball later that night – he groaned again at the thought – would be his last for a while. Immediately forwarding messages to his trine-mates and a few advisors, Starscream canceled all his appointments for the next week starting the next day. What good was being Crown Prince if you couldn't tell everyone to frag off for a bit? He ignored all the follow-up queries and stood from his couch.

     A few hours remained until the ball and his servants came to polish his plating and brief him on any important guests, besides himself and the host family. The jet pinged his chamber's sound system and selected his favorite playlist.

     As the music began to pump through the speakers, Starscream lost himself in his movements and pushed all his annoyance away to simply enjoy his favorite pasttime.

 

*****

 

     The ball had been nothing short of a disaster. Starscream fought down a wave of nausea as he thought back on the young Seeker's hideous paint scheme: orange and green! The fake smile he had plastered on before landing at that family's tower, one he thought he could hold against any offense, had faltered when he laid his optics on his hopeful suitor.

     The jet – Starscream didn't even care to remember his name, but he made sure to block every ping from his commline – had been insipid and boring, fawning over the Prince so incessantly that Starscream had tripped him just to have a chance to get away.

     Still, he'd been cornered into dance after dance, struggling to hide his disgust at every prim touch as they spun across the dancefloor. Starscream had wanted nothing more than to slap that pleased smile off that bland face and fly away. Preferably out a window at full speed just to further emphasize his absolute lack of interest.

     Sub-spacing a few items, the jet sighed as he looked around his chamber. The day was just dawning and he hoped to be halfway to Kaon before any mechs in his household onlined. To be on the safe side, he hopped out a window snickering to himself and floated a few hundred meters before transforming and engaging his thrusters.

     Reaching twice the speed of sound only after he crossed the boundaries of Vos, he rocketed off toward Kaon. Starscream executed a series of complicated maneuvers in his delight to escape his duties for even just a week before diverting more energy to his flight systems.

     He'd be in Kaon before mid-day and possibly before anyone realized he wasn't just sleeping off the party from the night before. Closing his trine-bond and disabling his locator signal, Starscream cut through the new Cybertronian day, a red and white gleam in the sky.

 

*****

 

     After arriving at his destination, it took Starscream an hour to find a source for the quality of fuel needed for his flight systems. He had chosen Kaon because it was grubby and low class and nobody there gave a scrap for Vosian customs or even knew who he was. But it was grubby and low class and flight-frames were scarce therefore the fortified energon he required was also scarce.

     And he'd had to pay out the nasal array for enough for his visit.

     No matter, he was out of Vos, away from his clinging suitors, and he could dance to his spark's delight in any of the many nightclubs in Kaon's entertainment sector.

     Later that night, after a brief recharge at his lodging and another small refuel, Starscream headed into the entertainment sector in search of the perfect dancefloor.

     The jet crisscrossed the sector, stopping at few promising clubs and finding them all disappointing in some way: too crowded, too deserted, too loud, too quiet.

     His anger growing with every step, Starscream eventually found himself stomping down a empty side street, too busy fuming to pay attention to where his thrusters took him. He paused and looked up. The badly flickering neon sign above the door read “WHAM Club,” and the bouncer looked at him expectantly.

     Grumbling to himself, the Seeker entered the club, his mind halfway made up to admit defeat and fly back to Vos that night.

     To his surprise, the club was just right: it was pleasantly lit, the music was perfectly loud, and there were just enough mechs on the dancefloor that he could put on a show without getting lost among the moving frames or his wings jostled too much.

     It was still early in the Kaonian night and the music was a little slower than Starscream liked so he bought a drink and sat himself on the lowest tier of tables surrounding the dancefloor. Eventually, the energy and the music would pick up and then he'd get into the groove.

 

*****

 

     An hour passed and Starscream was growing more impatient. He felt like the DJ was intent on putting him to sleep instead of getting him off his aft and onto the dancefloor. And mechs at varied levels of drunkenness were bombarding him with requests to dance or offers for drinks.

     The jet just wanted to dance so he refused them all. Most dropped it, but he did have to shove one away, and the scowl he followed that up with sent the mech scurrying back to his table.

     Beginning to believe that he would die before he got the chance to dance, Starscream slumped lower in his seat. Then, as if Primus looked down and took pity on his most beautiful creation, the jet's favorite song blasted out of the club's sound system.

     Starscream straightened and then swaggered down to the dancefloor making sure every step put his frame at it's most alluring angles.

     He swayed slowly for a few moments, his wings fluttering at the same pace. Then he made a few careful spins to give himself room to move safely and began dancing to the throbbing beat.

     The Seeker twirled and spun, red hips swaying, blue arms sweeping through the air, white wings complementing his movements. He even added a few little flourishes and kicks as he lost himself in his groove.

     The only other time the jet felt as free as when he tore through the Cybertronian skies, systems straining and engines screaming, was when he was dancing. The sensations coursing through his frame on the dancefloor were as sweet as the data from his flight sensors as he cut and rolled through the atmosphere.

     He was alone with the beat, and he danced like the club was his for the night.

     The song ended too soon, and with a few shoves at mechs ogling him, Starscream made his way to the bar at the opposite side of the club.

     On his way back to his table, another of the Seeker's favorite songs began and he drained his drink, carelessly flinging the glass away as he started dancing in the middle of the floor.

     Song after song, he danced, and drank, and danced. He laughed to himself as he imagined dancing like he was at the horrid balls he was invited to week after week. Immediate spark-failures all around. He laughed even harder and decided he needed another drink as the current song ended.

     He strutted over to the bar and leaned across it to place his order. Out of the corner of his optic, he noticed a huge silver mech sidle up to him, order his own drink in a rough voice, and then proceed to stare holes in Starscream's plating.

     Starscream sighed inwardly. He knew fliers were rare, but the liberties all the Kaonian riff-raff took ogling him shamelessly went beyond merely rude into incredibly uncivilized.

     “Look any harder and you're going to scorch my polish,” he rasped, and cocked his head up at the big mech as he accepted his drink. “And that will make me  _very_  angry.”

     The silver mech straightened up, drawing himself to his full height and smirked, keeping his optics locked on the Starscream's. They were red, a common color – Starscream's own optics were red – but the intensity in them looking out from a handsome – albeit in a rough, low class way – face intrigued the seeker. The mech's build was large, heavy, and the low thrum of his engines blatantly advertised it's power. That intrigued him even more.

     “Hmm. I like them big and ugly.” The jet smirked, attempting to hide his unexpectedly strong interest in a casual pose. His new admirer was also incredibly tall; Starscream was used to being one of the taller frame-types in Vos. “What's your name, big, bold, and brutish?”

     He was answered with a snort. “You've got some attitude on you, Vosian. My name is Megatron.”

     “And what is it you do, Megatron?” The Seeker drew the glyphs out haughtily, raking his optics over the larger mech's battered plating while drinking in the details.

     “I'm a miner off-world.” He didn't shrink or seem embarrassed by his admission. Starscream noted that with some appreciation. Megatron's demeanor contrasted sharply with the simpering Seeker he'd had to dance with just the night before.

     “So you  _are_  a brute. And on leave, I'm sure.” Starscream could use a break from dancing, and maybe he could get a few drinks out of this miner before he grew bored. “Buy me a drink. Where is your table?”

     “Name first, drink second.”

     “Starscream.” The jet turned back to the bar, attracting the bartender's attention with his raised glass. “Another one. On his tab.”

     “And you called me bold.” Megatron actually sounded incredulous. The Seeker liked his tactlessness.

     “Business is business,” the jet said dismissively. He took his second drink from the bartender.

     “Business?”

     “You wanted to know my name. I wanted another drink. Business.” Starscream finished his first drink quickly, and took a sip from his second. “Now, where's your table?”

 

*****

 

     Starscream was pleasantly surprised that Megatron, despite his thuggish looks and low class occupation, was actually intelligent and knowledgeable about many subjects. And his dry, casually bitter humor had the jet laughing despite himself.

     They spent the better part of an hour at the miner's table, talking and joking and sparring verbally. Megatron gave as good as he got, and Starscream didn't mind paying for a few of his drinks. Quite a few empty glasses were clustered on their table, and both mechs were much more drunk than they intended to be.

     One of Megatron's keen and cutting observations of a nearby dancer pulled a sloppy laugh from Starscream's mouth. Actually, the engex in his tank made him laugh harder than he thought the joke deserved, but he found he didn't care. And he found didn't care when he reached for Megatron's knee under the table and squeezed it.

     Without hesitation, the miner swooped in for a kiss, but stopped just before contact was made, his optics sliding to Starscream's lips, asking for permission in an almost gentlemechly way. Starscream's spark raced, and his smiled his most lusty smile.

     The silver faced filled his visual feed and his vents caught in anticipation, and then, Starscream's third favorite song filled the club. In his drunken mind, not dancing to it was not an option. And he was tired of dancing by himself. He'd been doing it since he was a youngling, locked away in his chamber late at night.

     Starscream stiffened and leaned back, leaving Megatron hovering, lips slightly parted in expectation.

     “Dance with me,” he squealed, and Megatron cycled his optics, jaw dropping into a gape. The jet hopped down from his seat and pulled on the miner's wrist.

     “You want to dance? Now?” The big mech looked so confused.

     “Come on. This is one of my favorites!” His face falling further into a confused look, Megatron pushed off of the table and allowed himself to be dragged onto the dancefloor.

     “Show me some moves, Megatron of Tarn,” Starscream teased, whirling around him with a flourish. “Surely, you've danced once in your life.”

     “Of course, I have,” the miner growled. After a few seconds, he began to move. His movements were smooth and controlled, and Starscream was yet again surprised by the silver mech. His dancing wasn't as flamboyant as Starscream's, but it was good. Strong and sure, just like everything else about him.

     As the jet twirled and spun, feeling the booming bass line rattle his plating, he stole glances at Megatron. The miner was watching him, too, and the look in his optics and the way his huge frame moved with a crude sort of grace turned Starscream on beyond reason.

     He circled behind the silver mech and pressed his frame against his back, seamlessly taking up his pace and movements. Pushing up onto his thruster-tips, he rested his chin on a broad shoulder and purred into the nearest audial: “Frag, you're hot.”

     In that moment, he knew they could be lovers if the rhythm was right.

     “But let me show you something.” Shivering as he imagined those huge hands, as heavy and scarred as the plating he was now sliding his hand down, roaming his own pristine, perfectly polished frame, he stepped out from behind Megatron.

     Catching the heavy hand, and feeling his brand new fantasy ratcheting up in it's intensity, he made a flashy spin which landed him wings to chest with Megatron. Feeling especially bold, he wrapped that thick arm around his waist.

     “Hold me close so you can follow along.” He gave the big mech a dark smile full of promises, and the arm tightened until he felt his aft meet the hips behind him. Charge rising, Starscream began grinding his aft slow and hard against those hips, choosing to tease him to a counterpoint to the beat. If the mech could dance, here was his chance to prove it.

     And he could dance. Every movement of Starscream's hips, no matter how low or daring, was easily mirrored by the silver mech. The jet was fairly panting with desire and he could tell Megatron was similarly affected; his plating was nearly scorching the jet where their frames met.

     A barely audible growl slipped out of Megatron's lips and he slid his deliciously rough hands to Starscream's hips, but he still let the jet lead their movements. That small gesture ripped any remaining hesitance from Starscream's mind, and he gripped Megatron's thighs – also deliciously rough, he noted with perverse glee – and guided both their frames down into a grind that made his spark positively _thunder_ in it's casing, and the rush of it left him feeling a little dizzy. As they both rose together, the Seeker swung his arms over his head in a lazy arcs and tipped his head back onto Megatron's shoulder.

     “Slag,” he whispered, his lips ghosting across scarred silver lips. He could see the fire burning in Megatron's optics, and his spark and valve clenched as one. Wanting to taste those lips and feel their texture on his, he lowered a hand to slide behind Megatron's head and pulled him into hard, fierce kiss that almost felt lazy at the pace their lips and glossa moved, a deliberate tasting and testing of each other's mouths.

     “Mmm.” The jet fought the urge to lick his lips as their mouths parted. Megatron could kiss, too. Oh,  _Primus_  could he kiss. “Another dance, Megatron of Tarn?” His voice was thick with lust and engex, and he felt the big frame against his back rumbling with desperate need.

     “Not like this,” was the answer growled against the Seeker's mouth before another kiss claimed it.

     “I know what you mean.” Biting back a groan, the jet stepped away from Megatron and led him off the dancefloor that was finally starting get uncomfortably full. They moved up through the tiers of tables to the uppermost tier.

     Starscream really had no idea where he was leading them, but a seedy club like WHAM Club was bound to have some dark spots just perfect for the type of activity they were about to engage in.

     He found just the spot, an empty booth tucked into the corner away from the brighter lights. Forcing down his desire to tackle the big mech and drag them both to the floor, Starscream instead perched on the table and spread his thighs in invitation. He heard Megatron's engines rev, and that made him even hotter for the miner. But when Megatron looked worriedly over his shoulder at the club beyond and below them, Starscream's face began to fall in disappointment.

     Megatron would nearly commit public interface with him on the dancefloor but then shirk the actual interfacing when they had a bit more privacy – the idea scandalized the Seeker. He nearly jumped up to kick the miner as hard as he could when Megatron looked back, and Starscream was pleased to see that desire was winning the war over his hesitation on his harsh features.

     “Here?” His rough voice was strained, edged with static, and Starscream played his hand.

     “Place like this, nobody cares. Now, show me what other moves you have.” Leaning back further, Starscream offered his bared valve with a smile that would level any further argument.

     Megatron's remaining resistance crumbled in a split-second as his optics dropped to the jet's invitation, and in the next beat, he was pushing between Starscream's spread thighs, thick spike already full pressurized and leaving a hard, burning line up the jet's mid-section where it was pressed against him. A rougher, more demanding kiss than before had Starscream feeling dizzy again.

     The Seeker was half out of his mind already when the big mech jerked Starscream's hips against his, and growled against the side of his head: “I'm going to frag you through this table...and the floor.” The burn in the jet's valve made him want to beg for it.

     “Oh, Primus,  _yes_ ,” the jet managed instead, not caring about the consequences of his next statements, or anything else for that matter. He only wanted to feel this powerful mech inside him, spike as rough and demanding as his mouth. “I'm ready. Frag me  _now_.”

     And then Megatron was inside him, stretching him in the most wonderful way. His huge frame shuddered, and Starscream gazed up at him dazedly, surprised that the miner would feel as affected as himself.

     The movement of black hips had Starscream nearly whimpering with pleasure, and the Seeker adjusted his frame to get more of the incredible spike inside him. It was almost embarrassing how desperately he was responding to the miner; his wings were about to launch off his back, and he absently hoped that Megatron wasn't familiar with fliers and couldn't read his vibrating appendages.

     “Oh slag, you're so big,” he panted, loving the full feeling in his valve. “So good.” His optics slid down from Megatron's face, tight with concentration, to the spike was pumping into his own valve and then back up, thoroughly enjoying the enraptured look in the big mech's flaring optics. He wanted – needed – everything the miner could offer. “More. I need more.”

     Pulling Starscream's legs around his hips without disrupting his rhythm, Megatron leaned over him, one huge black hand flattened against the tabletop above the jet's head, the other on a red hip, effectively caging the Seeker with his frame.

     His thrusts came harder and deeper, and when the table beneath them began creaking under the strain of their combined weight, Starscream couldn't hold back a delighted laugh. “Don't stop! Don't you dare stop!” If they managed to break the table, he'd pay for it, but to actually be fragged through a table...he really wanted to try. The jet tightened his legs around Megatron's hips and bucked into him, pulling the miner into him with what leverage he had.

     “Starscream...,” Megatron warned, his voice laced with static. The silver mech sounded close to overload and Starscream would be damned if he didn't finish first. It wouldn't take much, Megatron was an amazing frag; the fliers in Vos were too in awe of his title and heritage to ever try anything as indecent and crude as this, which Starscream decided he needed more often and as much as possible. And the miner's impressive spike tripped almost every sensor Starscream's valve had.

     “Hold it! I-I just...I just need...,” he gasped, his vocalizer straining. He pushed his hips up to sharpen the angle of Megatron's thrusts and that did it for him. His optics flickered and bursts of static spit out between gasps as Megatron rammed his deepest cluster of sensors. It had been so long since he had felt them flaring like that.

     And then his overload wiped everything from his mind, his frame seizing and curling in on itself, his wings clattering mindlessly. His optics and mouth went wide, his visual feed blown out by crackling white light, and then his frame shuddered, his valve mirroring the violent spasms, squeezing Megatron's spike as if to pull it deeper into him.

     The silver mech followed him into overload just a few seconds later, and the jet felt his massive frame tensing above him before a hot rush filled his valve. Starscream's head dropped back onto the table, systems taxed and his mind completely blissed out. He never wanted that feeling to end.

     With his systems still in the process of rebooting, Starscream felt Megatron pull out and disentangle their frames, a muffled  _thump_  coming from his side.

     Finally fully online again, the jet raised his head to find Megatron staring blankly at the ceiling from his seat in the booth, vents running at their max, and his own messy valve still exposed between his aching thighs. He straightened up and slipped off the table, shutting his panel as he dropped onto his thrusters. He wobbled precariously for a moment before Megatron pulled him into his lap, chuckling in a voice that was made much richer by satisfaction.

     It took two attempts for Starscream to reset his vocalizer, and embarassingly enough, it was still shaky and staticky when he said: “I want to dance with you again.”

     Megatron laughed and dragged a finger down Starscream's wing lightly, drawing shivers from his still over-sensitive frame.

     “Maybe I'll see you tomorrow then. I have another few days of leave left.”

     A feeling of deep contentment floated out of Starscream's spark and fell out of his mouth. “Tomorrow, then.”

 

****

 

     Starscream met Megatron at WHAM Club the next five nights, and the Seeker made good on his decision to take advantage of everything the miner offered him.

     And he loved it. Oh, those stiff wings back in Vos would never dare to interface in a public place. And they wouldn't dare to push him up against walls or down on tables and frag him through overload after overload until he couldn't stand. Not even Skywarp with all his nasty fetishes.

     The prince spent his nights wrapped around a miner from Tarn, his mornings in recharges full of fluxes that left his frame heated, and his afternoons fantasizing about how to tease his mech most terribly that night.

     It didn't even matter that most of his wicked plans were thrown out of his mind forcefully as soon as he laid his optics on thick, scratched plating. All he wanted were those hands on his frame, grasping and groping, and that strong, broad frame against his on the dancefloor or up in their corner.

     But he did count the previous night as a hard-won victory. They hadn't been dancing long before Starscream's own teasing pushed him too far. He had snatched a glass of abandoned engex off a table as they made their way to their corner after their public foreplay on the dancefloor.

     When he'd dribbled it down his canopy glass, his thighs, and his panel, Megatron had dropped to his knees before him as if he'd been deactivated. With long wanton swipes of his glossa, his miner had lapped up the red rivulets, each stroke accompanied by a sound so hungry and dark, Starscream had almost overloaded with silver lips pressed to his panel.

     Feeling vengeful, he'd then taken a mouthful of the drink and pulled Megatron's face up to his by his chin guard to kiss him thoroughly, letting the liquid flood his miner's mouth. Without a word, he'd spread a few drops on silver lips and pushed Megatron down in his place, the lack of resistance by the big mech making the process much smoother than their respective sizes should have allowed.

     The Seeker crawled onto the big mech, who looked ready for another ravishing kiss, and pulled a surprised look from Megatron when he continued to move up on his frame. Starscream had pinned his mech's head down on the table, which had miraculously survived despite their best attempts to crush it, and straddled his face.

     The sound Megatron made between Starscream's thighs and the way his frame tensed as the jet lowered his now bared valve to waiting lips had had Starscream shuddering in anticipation.

     Megatron's glossa had not been hesitant and the burn of the engex on Starscream's valve had him biting his lips to stifle a cry. He loved that the miner was open to anything and everything, and as much as all of Megatron's other desirable attributes, that exciting aspect of their interfacing had Starscream coming back for more. And he had wanted more after Megatron finished fragging him to overload with his glossa.

     When the silver miner had slipped his glossa with the last traces of stinging engex into the Seeker's valve, the stinging had transformed into a delicious fire that raced up his sensors and had Starscream grinding hard enough against his mouth in overload to feel denta against his valve's rim. That made the last surge of charge even more exquisite.

     After he'd recovered control of his frame, Starscream had slid down to align his hips with Megatron's and guided that glorious spike into his wet valve in a smooth, slow stroke. Then he'd ridden the big frame that filled his fluxes into two overloads that left Megatron sagging ungracefully on the table, arms hanging limply off the edges as his optics flashed and vocalizer spat nonsense that sounded suspiciously like a plea to the Guiding Hand.

     The jet felt his frame heating up at the memory. It was a few hours before he was to meet Megatron for their little ritual. It was Megatron's last night of leave in Kaon, and the jet wanted it to be very special. He had decided to return to Vos after their last night together; Kaon held no interest for him if Megatron wasn't there.

     Starscream was still stocking up his fantasy library, and wondering where he could acquire some vintage Vosian high-grade, when a ping to his inbox surprised him.

     He had been sure to block all his commlines; he was unreachable. He looked at the sender. Thundercracker. Starscream groaned inwardly. If any mech was persistent, it was his blue trine-mate. Knowing the Seeker as he did, he was sure that Thundercracker had mostly likely called in every favor he had racked up in Vos to circumvent all of Starscream's tricks in order to get his message through.

     He opened the message, not dreading it, just resigned to it.

     It read:

     “Dear Prince Starscream, We have located you on your impromptu holiday in Kaon. Skywarp and I will be arriving this evening to escort you home. Please do not resist us on this matter. Your presence is required in Vos most urgently. Ever yours, Thundercracker.”

     Upon finishing reading, Starscream groaned out loud to his room. He could always count on Thundercracker to be persistent, and he could count on the passive-aggressive glitch to choose glyphs that blatantly evidenced his anger despite his unfailingly polite tone.

     He really didn't want an escort home as if he were a lost sparkling. He really didn't want his trine-mates to meet Megatron. And he really didn't want to miss his last night with the most exciting mech he'd met in ages.

     Well, two of those things were somewhat beyond his control, but the last he could hold on to. He pinged back on Thundercracker's commline with a meeting time and place. He'd told them to come to WHAM Club an hour before Megatron was to arrive. Hopefully, he could placate his trine-mates with lots of insincere flattery and excuses and promises and get them to leave so that he could have his miner from Tarn all to himself.

     When he received another angry but polite confirmation, the jet set about polishing he already perfectly polished plating. It wouldn't do to be anything less than flawless for Megatron.

     Rubbing, smoothing, and buffing until he felt he shone brighter than Vosian crystal, Starscream went out into the night to hopefully bluff his way out of having to return to Vos early and see his mech one last time.

     His spark ached at the thought. He wanted to see Megatron again. He wanted to see him every day though he knew that was impossible. Megatron worked off-world, and he was Crown Prince of Vos. Maybe they could comm sometimes. He still felt deflated, but the hope that Megatron would want to at least continue to communicate with him again after this week lifted his spirits a bit.

 

*****

 

     When the Seeker arrived at WHAM Club, his trine-mates were already waiting inside the door for him. Thundercracker immediately grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him aside.

     “What is the meaning of this  _holiday_ , your Highness?” His deep voice hit a new low in his furious state. “All of the Royal Tower is up in arms over your  _dereliction_  of duty.”

     Starscream sputtered. “Dereliction of...?” Anger flared inside him and he yanked his arm free from the blue hand. “You would touch me and speak to me so?”

     “You disappeared, my prince,” the blue jet said stepping back, his tone now cold and formal. “The trine link was blocked. I had to call in all the–”

     His trine-leader cut him off. “I know what you had to do.” He leveled his narrowed optics at both Seekers. “Know this. I will return to Vos with you tomorrow. I will resume to my  _duties_  as Crown Prince upon my return. You may escort me if it is your wish, but for now, I would like to enjoy my last night of my  _holiday_  in the peace I so desperately desire.”

     Thundercracker looked has if he'd been slapped, and Starscream wasn't sure if it was his tone or that he didn't resist them for once.

     Skywarp was quick to jump into the silence. “So, what have you been doing here, Starscream?” His purple trine-mate was always the less formal of the two, and the prince tolerated it because Skywarp at least understood the need to cut loose sometimes.

     They had some time before Megatron would show up, so he pulled Skywarp to his usual table alongside the dancefloor, whispering to him conspiratorially. Thundercracker trailed quietly behind them, a frown on his normally placid face.

     Despite his misgivings, Starscream told them about Megatron, unable to keep himself from gushing about the miner. Thundercracker's frown deepened into a disgusted scowl, and Skywarp was at least interested in the bits about the fragging, even if he found Starscream's taste in partners off-putting.

     Starscream checked the time. Megatron was late, and his spark skipped a beat. He wasn't sure if he was being stood up. His mood instantly soured. “He's late.”

     “So much for this gem in the rough you claim to have discovered in this foul grounder city,” Thundercracker muttered, wings assuming an irritated slant.

     “He'll be here,” the red jet said hurriedly in attempt to soothe himself more than his trine-mate. “He has to come tonight.” He felt his spark breaking as he scanned the club for a familiar silver frame.

     His trine-mates watched him fret, his optics not stopping their search for several minutes before Thundercracker reached the limits of his tolerance. He learned forward in his seat toward his trine-leader to whisper harshly:

     “Honestly, Prince Starscream. This slumming in Kaon has to stop. Allowing these grounders to violate your frame in such intimate ways is beyond comprehension.”

     “This is just a little bit of fun, Thundercracker,” Starscream snapped irritation overcoming his anxiety for a moment. “I will be returning with you to Vos in the morning. There is nothing here worth staying for. Speaking of....” Starscream craned his neck to scan the crowd yet again, and when his optics fell on Megatron's still form standing on the next tier up, he smiled with a joy he hadn't felt since he had trined with Thundercracker and Skywarp what felt like aeons ago, and his spark lurched with relief.

     Starscream excitedly waved his miner over, eager to introduce his mech to his trine-mates. Hopping up from the table, the jet dragged another seat over for Megatron, placing it beside his as his spark raced to have the silver mech so close again.

     After a round of greetings, Starscream pushed a glass into his mech's big hand, hoping his trine-mates would understand that he wanted to be alone with Megatron. Their optics were cold as they watched their prince cuddle with a work-build grounder.

     The jet chattered happily at his mech for a bit, pushing drinks at him until he noticed that his excitement wasn't being reciprocated, and that Megatron was simply sitting there, unfocused optics seemingly staring at his empty glass.

     “Megatron? Are you not well?” He looked at Megatron, his optics searching for signs of illness or fatigue. His silver mech struggled to focus on Starscream, face pinched as if he was laboring to concentrate.

     “I'm just tired.”

     Starscream's lips spread in what he hoped was an incredibly wicked smile. “I hope you're not too tired.”

     When Thundercracker and Skywarp looked away with twin expressions of disgust, the jet sneered at them. He didn't appreciate their open disrespect of Megatron and he would speak to them about it later. Slightly disappointed that Megatron wasn't his usual charming, libertine self, Starscream reached across the table and took Megatron's hand in his, hoping to reassure his miner that he was still happy to see him with a few strokes of his thumb across the flat black planes.

     “Come, Megatron of Tarn. I believe you owe me one last dance.” As they stood from their table, his miner mumbled, “As you wish.”

     Starscream looked at him, confused by the change in Megatron's attitude, unsure if they should stay at the club if his mech was that tired. They  _ _had__  been partying hard for the last week. Starscream would buy him a cube of quality fuel after they left WHAM Club; Megatron might be running low on credits with all the drinks he had bought for them.

     But he had his spark set on one last amazing nite with Megatron so, frame nearly trembling with excitement and anticipation, Starscream led his miner to the dancefloor. He'd show his trine-mates what a “gem in the rough” he'd found. Skywarp would definitely appreciate his dancing. And if he didn't, they'd duck out of the club and continue their night elsewhere.

     As he moved in time with Megatron, Starscream let his mind wander, imagining the night to come. He'd make sure his mech didn't forget him or this week. He felt certain they'd see each other again. Now I know you're mine, he thought to himself, smiling.

     Tucking his wings against his mech's chest and loving the feel of his engines' rumbling against them, Starscream pulled Megatron's arms around his frame. Just that simple touch had his spark wheeling wildly. When he heard a sigh vented against the side of his head, he bit back a chuckle.

     “Perk up, mech, I want to enjoy myself tonight,” he teased. A wild week on leave couldn't possibly have a work-build _that_ exhausted. Maybe Megatron's recharges were full of exciting fluxes like Starscream's had been. The Seeker didn't mind that explanation at all.

     Megatron's next words sounded so empty and broken: “Of course, Prince Starscream.”

     Starscream froze in mid-step, his spark plummeting through his frame to his thrusters. He pulled away from Megatron's listless grip to search his mech's face. He didn't like the pain he saw there.

     “You heard Thundercracker?” He wasn't sure how he found the strength to speak the words.

     “I did. I'm not a fool, Starscream.” Guilt shattered Starscream and his hopes like a hammer, and his thrusters felt heavy, his frame numb. He felt so small beneath the hurt in Megatron's voice.

     The music that had suddenly grown too loud to Starscream's audials just as suddenly died. The sound, the dizzying lights, the other mechs faded as the prince faced his miner. Starscream looked into Megatron's optics and the sadness he saw there made his vision seem as if it had gone gray. All the color drained from his world, the fire from his spark.

     “Please. Megatron...,” he said softly, and reached for a black hand. It was a misunderstanding, but he couldn't find the words to fix it. Megatron shrank away as if just the Seeker's touch would wound him. He grasped for something to say.

     “Please stay,” was all he could manage. He kept his hand out, reaching and not quite making it, every circuit inside him screaming for Megatron to just take his hand. He would make it good again.

     “No, Starscream. Maybe its better this way.” Megatron didn't even meet the prince's optics as he pulled back and mounted the steps up and out of the club and Starscream's dreams.

     “I'm never going to dance again,” the Seeker promised as he lost sight of silver plating among the silhouettes of other mechs. As coolant began to sting his optics, he dimmed them, dropping his gaze to the floor where Megatron had stood just seconds before. “The way I danced with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I like to torture my favorite mechs this way. I'll have to make it up them somehow. :)


End file.
